A Scoundrel by Moonlight (3 page)

“God made a mistake when he created you female, Mamma,” he said drily. “You’d make a capital prime minister.”

She laughed and dismissed his comment with a wave, although it was true. “I’m a mere woman, James.”

He smiled, hoping that she’d stopped listing possible marchionesses. “And clever as a fox.”

“You flatter me, darling.” Briefly he saw the beautiful girl who nearly forty years ago had captivated the brilliant marquess with the glittering political future. Fate had played his parents some cruel cards.

“Not at all.” He sank into one of the frail chairs near the blazing hearth. The chair creaked beneath his weight. He was a large man and the furnishings in his mother’s apartments were decidedly dainty. “Let me establish my credentials as a respectable landholder before we plot my walk down the aisle.”

“You’ve always been a solid, reliable, thoughtful gentleman. People will eventually remember that. You’ll be back in London before you know it.”

He smiled, while his vanity bucked at the description. What a dull dog he sounded. “Ever the optimist, Mamma.”

“I have every faith in you.”

Sometimes he wished she didn’t. Each step of his life, he’d carried the weight of his father’s unfulfilled promise and of his invalid mother’s hopes. No wonder he’d never kicked over the traces like his less burdened colleagues.

Now he faced a solid, reliable marriage. The prospect was depressing. “I thought to find you all cast down with your own company,” he said. “You’re in better spirits than I expected.”

“I was lonely at first. There’s no denying it.”

“So what’s happened?”

She looked almost mischievous. “Aha, I must reveal my secret.”

Whatever she was up to, he was in favor if it lent her this spark. “Do tell.”

She rang the bell on the side table. The door to the dressing room opened and a neat, fair-haired young woman entered, head lowered and hands linked decorously at her waist.

Leath’s gut tightened with a premonition that the alignment of his planets changed forever. Of course, the girl was the mysterious Miss Trim who had kept him restless and intrigued past dawn.

M
y lady?” The girl’s curtsy conveyed considerably more respect than she’d granted him a few hours ago, Leath was piqued to note.

“Nell, let me show you off to my son.” The fondness in his mother’s voice troubled him, although only moments ago, he’d been grateful for whatever had brought about this positive change in her. His mother turned to him as if she presented a huge treat. “James, Miss Trim is my companion.”

The girl poised in the doorway. She wore the same plain gray gown and her hair was still wrenched back. She looked biddable and competent. Why, then, was he so convinced that she was up to no good?

During his sleepless hours, he’d wondered if his imagination exaggerated her attractions. Daylight didn’t lessen her physical impact. There was nothing flashy about Miss Trim, nothing vulgar. The purity of her features struck him even more strongly now than in candlelight. And that miracle of a mouth still made his skin itch with unwilling sexual response.

“Good morning, Miss Trim,” he said calmly.

Her gaze shot up to meet his. With a satisfaction completely out of kilter with the fact, he noticed that her eyes were a coppery brown, striking against her pale hair. “Welcome home, my lord.”

“Thank you.”

What the devil was she playing at, calling herself a housemaid? What the devil had she been playing at in his library at three this morning? The revelation of Miss Trim’s position in the household raised more questions than it answered.

“Nell has become indispensable.” His mother’s voice was warm with affection. Which made him uneasy on so many levels.

“I’m sure.” Leath mustn’t have contained the irony in his tone because his mother cast him a puzzled glance.

“She’s transformed my life,” his mother said, in answer to his unspoken criticism.

“You’re too kind, my lady.” Miss Trim’s voice was low and melodic, like a cello.

“You didn’t mention Miss Trim in your letters,” Leath said neutrally. Given his mother wrote most days, the omission had to be deliberate.

“I wasn’t sure you’d approve,” his mother said.

“I’m not sure I do,” he said. “When I’ve offered to arrange a companion, you’ve always declined.”

His mother grimaced. “You’d saddle me with some destitute relative. Bores, every one.”

“A little harsh.”

“But only a little.” His mother reached for Miss Trim who, blast her, took her hand. “Nell does me perfectly, especially since Sophie left. I need someone young and bright to talk to.”

Leath had no right to resent the implication that he wasn’t
young and bright. Miss Trim cast him a nervous glance under thick lashes, dark like her brows. She must expect him to betray her midnight wanderings. He wondered why the hell he didn’t.

“Perhaps. But I would have liked to help you find someone suitable.”

The girl’s lips flattened. His mother looked equally unimpressed. He realized that he handled this as badly as a parliamentary novice with an unpopular petition. He must be wearier than he’d thought. Or Miss Trim’s silent and subtly hostile presence unsettled him.

“Nell is completely suitable. You’ll see.”

He’d see something, that was sure. He wasn’t letting the manipulative Miss Trim out of his sight.

“My lady, perhaps it would be better if I finished ordering those embroidery patterns.” The girl shifted uncomfortably. Obscurely it galled him that her manners proved better than his. He and his mother should hold this discussion in private.

“If I’m going to quarrel with my son, perhaps you should,” his mother said.

“No, stay. I want to talk to you, Miss Trim.”

“Bully her, you mean,” his mother sniped.

Leath ignored the jibe and focused on his mother. “Where did you discover this paragon?”

“In the kitchen, my lord,” Miss Trim said with a hint of challenge.

“Nell, don’t bait my son. He doesn’t like to be crossed,” his mother said as if describing a fractious toddler. “James, Nell came to us in July as a housemaid. I was suffering… megrims and she was drafted into my care. It was immediately apparent that her talents extended beyond dusting and scrubbing.”

Leath fumed under his parent’s tolerant glance, even
as guilt assailed him. He well knew his mother’s courage. “Megrims” meant she’d been prostrate with pain. And he’d been in London and ignorant of her suffering. While this encroaching maidservant took advantage. “A housemaid is no apt companion for the Marchioness of Leath.”

“She is when the marchioness so decides,” his mother snapped. “If I can no longer choose who serves me, it’s time I moved to the dower house.”

Leath endured a meaningful glance from Miss Trim, as if to remind him that his mother’s health was poor and this disagreement must try her nerves. Damn it, he knew that. In frustration, he ran a hand through his hair. If they ever allowed women into parliament, every man there was doomed.

“Mamma, this is your home. There’s no need for this.”

“If it’s my home, I should be allowed to select my servants,” she said stalwartly.

Miss Trim shifted to a table covered with bottles and vials and poured a cordial for his mother. “Your ladyship, perhaps I should return to my former place in the household.”

Leath’s eyes narrowed on her. “Capital suggestion.”

His mother accepted the small crystal glass with a grateful smile. He couldn’t help noticing the glitter in her eyes. She didn’t look ill. In fact, she looked better than she’d looked in recent memory. But the doctors had insisted that too much excitement could exhaust her.

“I will not countenance you dismissing Nell just because you’ve got some bee in your bonnet.” She handed the half-empty glass to Miss Trim, who returned it to the table without glancing at him.

He sighed. “It’s a pity to start our reunion with an argument.”

His mother regarded him with a less militant light in her fine gray eyes. “Perhaps I should have told you in a letter.”

He doubted that would have changed his mind about Miss Trim’s suitability, although he might have had a clue about the identity of last night’s moonlit wraith. “I’m willing to give the girl a chance.”

He waited for his mother to insist that he had no say in the matter, but it seemed she too regretted their disagreement. “You’ll soon see how good she is for me and you’ll be as grateful as I am that she came to us.”

Somehow he doubted that. “I would still appreciate the chance to interview her.”

Miss Trim glanced up quickly and he saw that she was as reluctant to be interviewed as his mother was to allow the interview to take place. Too bad. He was master here and it was time he took control. His mother had always been an excellent judge of character and he had a large and capable staff. But even so, things at Alloway Chase were not as he wished.

“Don’t let him browbeat you, Nell,” his mother said with an encouraging smile.

“For heaven’s sake, Mamma, you make me sound like a tyrant.”

His mother arched her eyebrows. “If your guilty conscience prompts that thought, perhaps you should examine your behavior.”

He flushed, he who stood firm under the most concentrated parliamentary attack. His mother always knew how to best him, devil take her. “I’ll be gentle.”

The girl clearly didn’t believe him, but his mother took the statement at face value. “Thank you. I won’t have you upsetting someone who is so kind to me.”

Miss Trim hovered near the sideboard, looking as guilty as sin. Interesting.

“Miss Trim, if you please, we’ll adjourn to the library.”
He knew she caught the faint edge as he mentioned the scene of their nocturnal encounter.

“You promise not to browbeat her?” his mother insisted.

He muffled a growl. He wasn’t in the habit of badgering the servants. At this rate, the girl would be in such a state by the time he questioned her, she’d be in hysterics.

“Do you need anything, my lady?” she asked with a calmness that belied that prediction.

“Just my book and spectacles,” his mother said and accepted them with a smile. “Don’t stand for any nonsense from James.”

Miss Trim’s smile was faint as she curtsied and preceded him from the room with a poise that wouldn’t disgrace a debutante at Almack’s. As he followed, Leath couldn’t help thinking that she was the damnedest housemaid he’d ever seen.

Nell’s heart hammered with dread by the time she reached the library. She knew Leath chose this room to intimidate her. Goodness, after his tiff with his mother, she might yet face dismissal. It was clear that he wanted to get rid of her. If he did, how would she gather the evidence against him?

Before she was summoned, her eavesdropping had been enlightening. The newspapers were right. Leath’s political career was in trouble. Good. When Sedgemoor used the diary to expose him as the villain he was, all hope of public office would evaporate.

Nell had arrived at Alloway Chase despising Lord Leath. But that was before she’d listened to him battle with a mother he loved over something he considered important for her sake, not his own.

Mentally Nell kicked herself. His kindness to his mother didn’t mean anything. With his family, the marquess might
act the civilized man, but at heart he was a monster. If she forgot that, she was lost.

She stood straight and quiet in the center of the library as he prowled across to sit behind the desk.

“It’s too late to pretend humility, Miss Trim,” he barked, making her start.

When he’d spoken so tenderly to his mother, the beauty of his deep baritone had struck her. Now his voice was like a gunshot. Of course it was; she was a lowly servant. And he didn’t like her, despite those disturbing moments last night when she’d sensed male interest. This morning he’d regarded her like a cockroach in the castle’s pantry. Should the Marquess of Leath ever condescend to visit that prosaic location.

“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly, intending to needle him.

She succeeded. He growled and gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”

“It’s inappropriate for me to sit in your presence, sir.”

“It’s inappropriate to answer back, my girl.”

He had a point. She sat and concentrated on her lap to avoid those intense deep-set eyes.

Last night, his size had struck her as remarkable. Since then, she’d told herself that nervousness alone had painted him as such a powerful physical presence.

It wasn’t nervousness. He was tall and broad and dauntingly muscled. Clearly he found time for plenty of exercise away from his parliamentary activities. The portrait in his mother’s room was of a young man, long and lean and with a touch of innocence in his face. When she dared to glance up, there was nothing innocent about the man studying her over steepled fingers. He clearly awaited her full attention. She shivered and prayed he didn’t notice her disquiet.

“Tell me about yourself.”

The mad urge rose to announce that she was Dorothy
Simpson’s sister and she was at Alloway Chase to ensure that he never ruined another woman.

“Well?” he asked when she didn’t answer. “Cat got your tongue?”

She licked her lips in uncertainty and suffered a jolt when his eyes focused on the movement. Immediately she was back in that strange dance of hatred and fascination. She’d been mistaken to think he’d conquered last night’s sensual awareness.

Oh, dear Lord, this was an unholy mess.

“I’m a little frightened,” she admitted.

“Rot.” He arched those formidable black eyebrows. “How did you come to work here?”

She straightened in the chair, which would have put any of the furniture in her stepfather’s cottage to shame. “I’m an orphan.”

“Is that so?”

Her lips tightened. When she’d told his mother that her parents were dead—well, it was true, however kind her stepfather was—the marchioness had overflowed with sympathy. Lord Leath studied her as if reading the layers of deceit beneath every word.

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been alone in the world?”

She couldn’t restrain a faint sharpness. “You speak as if my bereavement is a matter of choice, my lord.”

He bared his teeth. “My apologies.”

She shifted uncomfortably under his unblinking regard, before she reminded herself that betraying her fear gave him the advantage. “My father was a sergeant major under Wellington in Portugal. He died when I was a child. My mother remarried and died when I was fifteen.”

All true. So why did she feel like she lied?

“Where did you grow up?”

“Sussex.” Her first lie. If she mentioned Kent, he might connect her to Dorothy, although he’d shown no recognition when she’d told him her name last night.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Sussex. You sound like a lady.”

William Simpson had been an unusual man, educated on a scholarship at Cambridge despite his humble origins. He’d made sure that both girls in his charge spoke with educated accents. “Are there no ladies in Sussex?” she asked sweetly.

His lips quirked. “None that I’ve met.”

That was another surprise. In her imaginings, Dorothy’s seducer had possessed no sense of humor. Nell had expected evil to seep from his very pores. But unless she’d already known his wickedness, she’d see nothing to despise and much to admire. It was odd, the more she saw of Leath, the less she understood why flirty, flighty Dorothy had found him appealing. Perhaps on the hunt, he adopted a different style.